


Tall Dark and Handsome

by BluBooBird



Series: Random Things I Wrote at 2 AM Instead of Sleeping [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Human Bill Cipher, Implied Sexual Content, Infidelity, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Older Dipper Pines, Psychological, Slaughter of Geographical Placement, Sorry To Whoever Lives In California, i also have no idea how medical practices work, or is he? - freeform, uwu - freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21949186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluBooBird/pseuds/BluBooBird
Summary: Dipper had wanted this trip to be his get away. So far it had been nothing but another stressor on his life and he wondered for a brief moment what would have happened if he had stayed those two extra days in Las Vegas, curled up under satin sheets, asleep next to his handsome blonde affair.
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines
Series: Random Things I Wrote at 2 AM Instead of Sleeping [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921501
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	Tall Dark and Handsome

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired and following the plot of _Tall Dark and Handsome_ by Lindsay Hepburn. I heard her story on the podcast _Scare You To Sleep_ hosted by Shelby Scott. She's got some really amazing episodes so I definitely recommend listening to it!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I am by no means making any income from this work. I have borrowed a lot from the story but plagiarism is not intended and most of the wording is my own. It was purely for fun and all rights go to the original author Lindsay Hepburn.

Dipper took a deep breath of the briney air, a soft smile on his lips as he leaned on the railing of the ferry and took in the slow descent sun over the city skyline, gulls crying over his head. He’d missed this: the sea, the loud sounds of the city, the freedom of travel. It used to be such a happy time up here for him: friends, family, a budding career, and a new husband who loved him dearly.

It had now been about nine years since he and Will had followed his career to Phoenix, Arizona, to open a supernatural comic firm. The trip had become less and less enjoyable as the years passed but Christmas was really the only time of year for Dipper to reunite with his family and friends in Piedmont. Dipper’s friends were married with children and thus didn’t have the time to hang out with him as they once had and his family had all remained in California and thus had become closer than ever in his absence. Worst of all, his marriage to Will was drawing to an end and they both knew it, even if neither ever brought it up. 

The rift had started, like in so many cases, when they were unable to have a family. In Dipper’s defense, he’d told Will he would likely never be ready for kids. In a fit of hurt pride and emotions, Will had lashed out at Dipper after the brunette had blown off his talk of adoption one too many times, stating that if Dipper would get a real job and leave his childhood behind him they might actually be happy. He’d regretted it instantly, Dipper had seen it on his face, but the damage had been done and Dipper had walked out and not come back for a week straight. He’d spend all day at his studio, pretending to work on an idea for a new series, and when he had to crash he either asked to stay at a friend’s place or he'd hole himself up in the studio on the couch he’d brought in for the artist to crash on during late nights.

When he’d finally calmed down enough to go back, Will had been a mess, dark circles under his eyes and his normally clean shaven face stubbly, sobbing and apologizing and promising to wait for when Dipper felt ready for children. Dipper had appreciated the emotional display, really he had, but ultimately he’d been too wounded. As time passed, the less they talked and the more they grew apart from one another, though not from Will’s lack of trying. The reality of the situation was that Dipper had fallen out of love with Will and that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon, no matter how much the other apologized or showered him with adoration. 

Now, whenever his work took him out of state for various functions or conventions, he would inadvertently let his eyes start to wander. 

It’s not like he was _trying_ to lead Will on, but he was bad at initiating the hard conversations. Divorce, in Dipper’s book (and likely many other people’s as well), was _definitely_ a hard conversation. Dipper just held onto the hope that Will would eventually get around to starting that particular discussion, cringing as he thought of the passionate night he’d had - the only time he’d ever given into the temptation to cheat on his husband - when he’d been in Vegas the month before. 

Despite what others might have claimed, he had not been looking to get into anyone’s sheets, even if he was, well, _looking_. Dipper knew himself, his sense of right and wrong was strong and, before then, he’d never cheat on Will, no matter how in love he found himself with someone else. 

However that day he’d simply, in true Dipper fashion, stumbled - literally and figuratively - into his brief but torrid tryst with a tall, dark, and handsome young man. He’d been lost amongst all the dazzling buildings, late for a Q&A session for his company's new series, and emotionally unbalanced after a phone call from Will. Looking at his phone map, grumbling unhappily about how the damn things were never reliable, he’d walked right into his future lover, drenching them both in the blonde’s coffee.

How cliche, meeting someone like that in sin city.

Dipper had apologized profusely, face the shade of a cherry as he helped the man, who looked like he was barely a day over twenty one, up. He offered to have the blonde’s - he’d caught sight of the tag - _Armani_ suit dry cleaned as well as his business card. The blonde had merely looked at his card, gave Dipper a once over, smirked, and then brushed a kiss over Dipper’s lips before walking away, not a word spoken.

When Dipper had finally come back to himself, he realized he was being led through the building his session was being held in, his mind filled with nothing but soft, warm, tanned lips pressing against his own. Imagine his surprise when he’d caught sight of a tall, dark, blonde slipping out of the hotel ballroom after he’d finished. He’d quickly chased after the man, one thing led to another, and before he knew it he was being dragged into the man’s hotel suit.

Dipper wasn't sure if Will had noticed that he’d been wearing considerably more turtlenecks since he’d come home from his trip or was just being his passive self, but that year he declared he needed to stay in Phoenix due to his work schedule.

Will worked at a bank. 

A bank that would be closed for the holidays.

Dipper didn’t argue his husband’s thinly veiled excuse to not travel and see his family. He was, in fact, actually relieved. Going to Piedmont by himself meant that there wouldn’t be that awkward, tense atmosphere that grew around Dipper and Will whenever they were in the same room or questions about the huge bruises and hickies all over his body, which _still_ hadn’t healed a week later, that were definitely _not_ from Will but that everyone would assume were because he _wasn’t there_. That thought alone made Dipper flush.

He was excited, too. This was the first time in many years that he was traveling by himself. It was freeing, not having to worry about his husband and whether or not he was paying enough attention to him. He would be able to really relax, being away from Will and their sinking marriage. Plus, it would also give him time to think about his future. Not only that, but his longest standing friend and once childhood crush, Wendy, had invited him up to a cabin she, her husband Sebastian, and their two children had rented in Orick and Dipper had agreed to visit them the weekend before the Christmas holidays really started to get hectic. Not having Will come with him was really so liberating.

He’d flown in about a half hour ago from the Sky Harbor International Airport to San Francisco where he caught a cab and was now taking the ferry to Oakland. Something about the gentle, undulating water made him feel like he was coming home. The feeling, and the ocean view, was what he missed the most living in the desert. It was almost like he could feel the salty air hydrating his sun kissed skin from the inside out, but as the ferry rolled over the waves he started to feel slightly queasy. 

Dipper had never been seasick before. This was the first time that he’d ever experienced the feeling and he was quickly deciding he did not enjoy it. He closed his eyes to the late evening light while he stood on the bow of the ferry and let the cool air wash over him, taking deep breaths to hopefully calm his stomach but they quickly shot back open when he heard the sharp cry and whimper of a small child behind him somewhere. Assuming that some adventurous little one had misplaced their parents while playing on the ferry, he turned to offer his help, but realized that he was alone on the deck.

“Must have been a gull,” he said to no one in particular, laughing nervously as he turned back around, a shiver running up his spine and his stomach rolling.

<<\-->>

He heard the Stanmobile roll up to the ferry station before he saw it.

The Stanmobile was the pride and joy of his late great uncle: a (semi) well maintained, 1965 El Diablo convertible, four door sedan. It was a big, red beast that had the quintessential faux leather seats and weather proof canvas top.

Dipper couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, amazed that the car was still kicking after all the years his grunkle - not to mention he and his sister - had used and abused it. His twin sister, Mabel, was his grunkle’s favorite of the two of them, no matter how much everyone tried to convince Dipper otherwise but out of all of them, he was pretty sure the Stanmobile was his grunkle's absolute favorite.

He could see his grunkle’s grinning, wrinkled face as he pulled up towards him along with their eighteen year old pig, Waddles, riding shotgun. His grunkle got out and gave him a big squeeze, asking about the trip and about Will. Dipper merely gave him a tense smile, brushing the question aside by asking his grunkle about his own journey. The man had been sailing the world with his own twin on a sailboat, the only thing that gave the Stanmobile a run for its money in the hierarchy of who was his grunkle’s favorite.

While he listened to his grunkle regale his great adventures, he opened the passenger side door for Waddles to get out but the pig merely slunk down further on the seat making no effort to move, eyes averted from the brunette. Dipper, oblivious as always, reached in to ruffle the pigs head and was met with a squeal and a sharp nip to his wrist.

“Waddles!” Dipper yelped, pulling his hand back, genuinely surprised before he glared angrily. “Don't forget who saved you from becoming breakfast and who could still turn you into it.” He warned the pig. Assuming it was some kind of pig dementia, Dipper forgave him, but made a note not to get too close as he climbed into the back of the sedan. His grunkle shot him a questioning look in the rearview and Dipper shrugged, gesturing to the pig. “He snapped at me.”

Dipper’s grunkle laughed. “Guess he called shotgun.”

Dipper scowled at his grunkle’s lack of concern but took a deep breath and let it go. It was the same old same old and he didn’t want to get into an argument this early in his trip. 

“Guess so,” he agreed lightly, relaxing into the familiar stained seats as they started to drive to Piedmont.

<<\-->>

Hours later, after he was finished with the greetings from him family - his parents, grunkles, Soos, Melody, their son, his sister, her spouse Tad, and their three children - and they had finished dinner, it was bedtime.

Dipper had offered to read bedtime stories to his nieces and nephews but they’d all declined. They had acted really quiet since he had arrived, Mabel’s littlest one especially strange and almost scared. Dipper was saddened to realize that she didn’t remember him, but he supposed that was to be expected. She had only just turned five and he hadn’t been able to make it up to Piedmont last year due to a deadline for one of his company's more popular comics.

“They haven't seen you in a while,” his sister had said, almost condescendingly. “Almost a year. That’s a really long time for a child.”

Dipper tried not to feel too defensive. She was right, he’d been distant, but the way she had said it… 

Dipper sighed, shook his head and poured himself a healthy amount of bourbon and then went to his room. He wasn’t extremely tired yet, and being the insomniac he never grew out of being, he pulled out his laptop and a pair of earphones and started working on a chapter in his company's newest series. He was enjoying the relaxing buzz of the bourbon, the good food, and the warmth of family, even if it was rather strained, when he heard a cry.

Slowly sitting up in bed, Dipper took out one of his earphones, body still as he waited, listening for the sound.

It had sounded like a toddler, which was a little strange to hear when the youngest of his nieces and nephews was five. He put his earphones back in and took a long, long sip of his whiskey when he heard it again. A cry, but this time it was of an even younger child, like the sound of a baby.  


Dipper ripped out his earbuds, shoving his laptop to the side and jumped out of bed before he ran out into the hall. All the doors were closed and there was not a peep in the house other than Waddles’s soft snuffling as he looked up from the hallway outside the kids’ room but as soon as the pig saw it was Dipper he let out a low almost inaudible grunt.

“Shut up, you overgrown sausage,” Dipper growled back at the pig who slunk further into the shadows with a snort.

Hesitant, Dipper went back to his room, an ear open for another cry but when it ultimately never came, he returned to his bed and turned off the lights and his laptop. He tried to shake the sounds from his head and the turning in his stomach as he pulled the covers around him. In the end, he had a fitful sleep which wasn’t new. What was new was the vivid dream that followed:

He was royalty, adorned in gold and jewels and crimson robes, seated at a large oak dining table and surrounded by a lavish feast of rich, bloody meat: carcasses of creatures he’d never seen before. Beside him was the mysterious tall, dark, and handsome blonde that he had shared a night with in Las Vegas. He was eating a large steak, so rare it was almost blue, and the plate gleamed red with blood that gushed from the meat every time it was cut into.

Dipper locked eyes with him and was mesmerized.

His beloved had the most captivating amber eyes, flecked with browns and reds, his pupils ringed in a bright gold. They stared at Dipper as if they could see straight through him and into his soul. His tanned face was angular and smooth, like Dipper remembered it, with high cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. His lips - those soft, warm, sinful lips - were painted red with his meal, quirked into that devious smirk he’d constantly worn all throughout their night of coupling. Dipper’s stomach growled as he slept and in his dream he leaned over, eyes half mast as he passionately kissed the exotic blonde, staring into his eyes and tasting the rare meat on his tongue.

When he woke, it was with a jolt and the realization that his excited body was practically begging for a lover who wasn’t there to take it and pleasure it the way it had been days ago. Dipper flushed, shame and arousal curling in his gut as he tried to resist touching himself. 

Why was it so hard to forget that man? Dipper had never felt such an overwhelming desire like this for anyone before, not even his husband, and it was for a man he’d met only once! A man that had to be at least a decade younger than him! A man he’d left under satin sheets, with a brush of lips and a brief note before shame and guilt had made Dipper flee back to Phoenix two days early. As the memory of their night long romp in the sheets came back to him, his arousal grew, and he gave in to his body.

After, once he again lay still, spent and panting on the bed, Dipper felt a sharp pain in his gut and the dreaded urge that he was going to be sick. He ran to the bathroom just in time, his stomach refusing to hold its contents any longer as he emptied it into the toilet. 

When his stomach had finally calmed, he slumped over the toilet seat, clammy face resting on the seat and for a moment, he thought he smelt the metallic tang of blood. He lifted his head, which was pounding, off the seat and when he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand he saw a crimson stain. He shot up, ignoring his still delicate digestive system and throbbing head, flicking the light on but when he brought his hand back up, the stain was gone.

“Note to self,” he muttered quietly to himself as he cleaned up and rinsed out his mouth. “Drinking bourbon that’s been who knows where, out at sea with two old men for who knows how long, is something I’m never doing again.”

As he climbed back into bed, he swore his mouth tasted of blood.

<<\-->>

Dipper walked into the kitchen the next morning where the smells of cooking breakfast were assaulting his senses, making his head throb even more than his apparent hangover was.

Deciding against his usual cup of strong black coffee he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of pomegranate juice instead. While they were seated Dipper asked the family if they heard anything during the night or if any of the children had had a nightmare but it seemed everyone had a good restful night of sleep. Everyone except for Dipper, which wasn’t new, and Waddles who was now banished outside because he’d been squealing all night.

Dipper was beginning to think that he was losing his mind.

First his fight with Will over having kids, then he’d cheated on his husband with someone younger, who his mind wouldn’t let him forget, and now he was hearing children crying when no one was there. Was his guilt manifesting as hallucinogenic cries of children? Maybe, when he went home, if Will still hadn’t brought up their failing marriage Dipper would just have to start it for them. He was not going to let the situation continue if he was going to be hounded by the screams of phantom children as recompense.

<<\-->>

A few days later and a few more fitful nights of weird dreams, random spikes of pain in his abdomen, and odd crying sounds Dipper was getting packed to head to Orick. His mother, in her usual fashion, wanted him to stay home for the weekend as the roads up north could get a little slick from time to time and she did not want Dipper to be stuck in Orick for Christmas day.  


It was his sister who had encouraged him to go on the trip.

The children had not warmed up to Dipper at all in the last two days, his youngest nephew had cried when he’d picked him up, and Waddles was acting out of character. It was weird, and he could tell that she needed a bit of a break. 

A break from _him_.

He tried not to be upset that she was choosing a pig over him, though that wasn’t exactly new either, because he also knew she was doing it for her children, too.

Dipper sighed, texting Wendy to expect him around noon and started pulling out necessities for the week he’d be spending up North. He didn’t understand how he and his twin had grown so far apart. They used to be so close. He supposed the years away had really taken their toll on the relationship with his family.

So he got packed, convincing himself he was _not_ running away from his strained familial relationships, and argued with his family about which car he would take. In the end - the votes tallied: everyone against him - it was decided that the safest car on the road was the Stanmobile. Dipper reluctantly agreed to take the goliath to appease his mother and if nothing else he would look pretty cool rolling into Orick with a relic from a time before most of the community had been born.

It started to lightly rain as he left and by the time he reached just around Stone Lagoon, it had turned to fluffy light snow. It had been been just around four hours since he started out, he was nearly to Orick, and Dipper decided to stop the car and stretch his legs. 

Taking the nearest exit to a rest area, he hopped out of the Stanmobile, grabbing a camera his sister had forced onto him - possibly her way of apologizing for being short with him - with instructions to take lots of pictures for her to scrapbook, and started a short trek towards the redwood forest.

It was nothing like the landscape in Arizona. The trees towered above him. The damp smell of foliage, hanging moss, mushrooms, fallen leaves, and fragrant wood was almost magical. Walking through the large fluffy snowflakes and around monolithic trees was almost like walking in a dream.

He snapped a few pictures of himself posing for Mabel, but then turned the camera back to the forest, setting up beautiful shots of the nature around him. He flicked through the digital film, deleting a few blurry ones, smiling at some of the shots he’d gotten. His sister had once told him he’d missed his calling as a nature photographer. Sometimes, he'd thought he did too.

He was alone at the rest stop. It seemed like everyone else was on the road, driving home to their families and loved ones. It made something in Dipper’s gut clench and he shook his head, scowling. 

When he was younger, when they had first been married, Dipper had wanted nothing but to cuddle and canoodle and kiss for about a month. His productivity had taken a nosedive and he didn't end up writing anything of consequence for another two months or so afterwards, always leaving the studio early to get home at the same time as Will so he could have a nice dinner with him and then drag his husband to bed.

Will had been his biggest supporter when he’d announced that he wanted to create his own firm to turn his supernatural stories into comics. Everyone, even his sister, had tried to convince him otherwise. They hadn’t accepted his love for myths and monsters, his fascination with death and gore. Will, who had only been a good friend at the time, had been the only one to accept his strange fixation, telling Dipper that any dream was worth pursuing, no matter what it was. After they’d been married, he’d offered to help Dipper start his studio, assisting Dipper with monetary investments and the legislative jargon that came with owning a building, a company. Dipper had fallen a bit more in love with him after that.

Sighing, the brunette sat on a relatively dry boulder, just letting the sounds of the forest wash over him. How had this become his life? His family was straining to connect with him more than they had when he’d merely been a boy with his head in the clouds. His sister, who he was once so close to that they could just share a look with each other to know what the other was thinking, had practically pushed him out of the house so she could have some peace for her children. His marriage of almost ten years was falling apart. The only thing still going for him was his career, which he enjoyed, but didn’t want his life to revolve around. 

Dipper didn’t know if he wanted kids. He didn't know if he just didn’t want to have kids ever, or if he didn’t want to have kids with _Will_. He liked his nieces and nephews well enough, and for the first few days of coming to Piedmont, he’d tried to bond with them but Dipper always felt like there was something he was missing when his friends or family gushed over them, about how they were so proud or envious that Mabel had started a family.

It was then that Dipper realized just how dark and silent the forest was, the canopy practically blocking the sun entirely from reaching the forest floor. As soon as he was conscientious of his solitude, he heard a guttural shriek and a bright white spike of fear shot through him. His hands started to sweat and he instantly ducked down behind the boulder he’d been sitting on. He knew how susceptible a person alone in the woods was to becoming prey to a large predator, he’d practically lived his childhood in rustic, middle of nowhere Gravity Falls, Oregon. A cougar or a bear could easily make a meal of him, and he quickly decided his break was over and it was time to get back on the road. As he stood and turned to head back to the rest area, he sucked in a sharp breath. 

Standing not three feet away from him, a large, grey coastal wolf was blocking his path, staring at him with large amber eyes.

He froze. 

Dipper knew that the national redwood forest was barely three miles from Orick. He knew that there’d been talk of wolves moving into the area, encouraged even. He had not expected to see one so up close and personal at a rest stop however, and he held his breath as he waited for it to pounce.

The wolf took a step towards him.

Dipper flinched, squeezing his eyes shut and waited for the pain. He gasped a short breath when he felt something touch his leg. He could smell the pungent odor of wet dog and instinctively lowered his hand down to feel the shaggy, damp fur of the wolf. He opened his eyes and looked down to see the wolf rubbing its head, then body, against his leg as it walked past. 

Turning in awe to watch the animal, he stared in shock as it looked back at him. Its ember orbs seemed to take him in, studying him, before it jumped into the ferns and disappeared.  


Dipper stood there dumbly for what seemed like hours after, though it could have only been minutes before, adrenaline pumping, he sprinted back to the Stanmobile. He fumbled with the keys trying to unlock it, his head swinging back and forth frantically as he opened the door and swore that he heard the wail of a young child in pain.

It was a sound that raised goosebumps across his body. 

He knew that it had to be the wolf, but it sounded different than he had expected. As he sat in the car for a moment, catching his breath and waiting for his heartbeat to slow down, he laughed. He was as much excited as he was terrified but then he remembered the way the wolf had looked at him and his awe diminished. 

It was weird.

It was familiar.

It was weird that it was familiar.

He looked at his phone, considering whether he should call someone about the wolf and noticed that he was out of service. He likely wouldn’t get service until he was in Orick which was, admittedly, only another couple minutes drive. But a part of him wanted to be selfish: to keep the memory that he’d been allowed to witness such a majestic and wild creature rub itself all over him like a puppy, and not taint it with the knowledge that he might have put the animal in danger. Then again, the national park was only a few miles away. It had most likely come from there, and the authorities would probably just let it be to make its way back to the park on its own. Dipper considered for a minute, but then decided that if they were just going to tell him there was nothing they could do about it, then there wasn't a point in calling. 

Mind made up and with the snow starting to come down a little harder too, Dipper turned the ignition, making his way back onto the interstate. He pulled into the driveway of the cabin a couple minutes later, floored by the amount of jet black ravens that were perched in the trees and on the roof of the rustic cabin as he exited the car. They hopped along the peak of the cedar roof and, for the most part, were silent. He snapped a few pictures, taking a few with him posing for his sister again, before putting the camera away and unloading his belongings, musing about how this really was such a beautiful part of the world.

<<\-->>

By the time he had unpacked and finished greeting Wendy and her family, he felt like he was living in a fog, his head throbbing softly as he sipped at the amber liquid of his scotch. He and Wendy had laughed over the fact that he had taken the beast of a sedan, not to mention that his grunkle had even allowed it in the first place, and they caught up some. Wendy was a freelance architect, she knew her way around wood and was well known and acknowledged, her most popular pieces the custom homes she and a team of carpenters would build for a handsome price. Dipper had wanted commission her for himself and Will when they had been just married but had never gotten around to it, and now she just had too many orders piling up and Dipper was questioning his marriage.

Wendy, being the intuitive childhood friend she was, picked up on it immediately, and Dipper could hardly hold himself back as he spilled everything: from the initial fight that had started it all to his hook up in Vegas to how his sister had practically kicked him out. He didn’t mention how he kept hearing the screams of children, Wendy hadn’t objected to his fascination with the occult but she hadn’t really supported it either and he didn’t want to strain the one relationship that seemed to be working out for him right now. Neither of Wendy’s children, both in their teens, had reacted negatively to him when he had ruffled their hair, and Sebastian was his regular quiet, if not polite, self.

They had just finished their third glass of whiskey when Dipper excused himself for a nap. He could tell that Wendy was bummed, they had only been talking for a few hours and Sebastian had yet to start dinner, but his head had begun to pulsate and he could hardly keep his eyes open any longer.  


With a promise to fill her in more later, Dipper escaped into the guest room, slipping under the covers easily. His headache seemed to lessen as he felt himself sink closer to unconsciousness, and a lazy warmth had begun to spread through his body. He was asleep within seconds.

When he awoke, it was already dark.

Dipper rose out of bed slowly. The headache he’d been praying would leave him with sleep had multiplied tenfold and his stomach was churning. Had it been the whiskey again? Gradually, he made his way out of the room, padding quietly towards the kitchen. He was incredibly thirsty on top of being that weird combination of hungry but nauseous. 

Dipper didn’t know what time it was, assuming that it had only just turned dark and that Wendy and her husband would still be up, or at least Wendy, who was as much a night owl as he. As he entered the living room, he noticed the room was bathed in the light of the flickering TV screen but that no one was there. 

Shrugging, Dipper made his way into the kitchen, figuring Wendy wouldn’t mind if he rummaged through their food. He went straight to the fridge, opening it and looking for something, anything, to satiate his thirst. He took a few seconds to just let the cool air slip over him, somewhat helping with his nausea, before continuing with his quest. He had only moved a few boxes of plastic tupperware when a flash of pink caught his eye. 

It was a tray of hamburger patties, which Dipper knew were for tomorrow, for when they headed out to the park for a nature hike. He stared at them for a moment, eyes squinted and head pounding, and then reached his hand out, breaking off a small piece of the pink flesh before he brought it to his nose. His mouth started to water as he inhaled the metallic tang of the refrigerated meat and ever so slowly he took a bite.

Dipper tried to stifle the moan that slipped from his lips, the flavor of ambrosia exploding on his tongue. Almost immediately, he noticed that the churning in his stomach and the dryness of his throat had been replaced by the overwhelming _need_ to consume the rest of the raw meat. He reached out desperately for another piece when he heard footsteps down the hall.

“Dipper?” 

When Dipper finally deigned to turn around, it was to find Sebastian standing in the doorway, mouth agape as he stared at the brunette shoving handfuls of meat into his mouth. He knew he was being rude by ignoring the man, doubly so by ignoring him and eating the hamburgers he had probably painstakingly shaped and seasoned, but Dipper couldn’t get himself to care. When he’d finally had his fill, he closed the fridge door and slowly sashayed over to where his best friend’s husband was standing frozen mouth agape in the doorway.

Dipper didn’t stop until he’d driven Sebastian’s back to the wall, sucking at his fingers until they were clean and then leaning up to smile wickedly at the taller man, eyes flinty as he practically spat out his words, “what the fuck are you looking at?” before he sauntered back to his room and to bed.

When he woke the next morning he was confronted by Wendy who was a mixture of concerned, confused and angered at this weird incident in the previous evening. She demanded to know if Dipper had taken drugs. 

Dipper had tilted his head and laughed nervously, thinking it was a joke and saying just as much. He let panic wash over him when Wendy just stared at him blankly before she recounted how Sebastian had found him, crouching in the kitchen, devouring the two pounds of their raw hamburger like a feral animal and how he had practically attacked her husband.

Dipper was mortified, apologizing profusely for his actions but told her he had no recollection of doing anything but going to bed last night. Wendy looked like she didn’t believe him at first, which hurt Dipper immensely, but eventually she admitted that she trusted him and that she would be taking him to the hospital.

Dipper wanted to protest. He wasn’t sick, didn’t even feel remotely nauseous which was a relief. Even if she said that he had eaten all their hamburgers, he didn’t want to spend the holidays in the ER going through a series of tests. But that look in her eyes told him he was on thin ice already, and he supposed he owed it to her if he’d actually gone and assaulted her husband.

So he let her herd him into her truck, his anxiety steadily building with the tense silence between them. He had wanted this trip to be his get away: away from Will, away from his guilt, away from his responsibilities. So far it had been nothing but another stressor on his life and he wondered for a brief moment what would have happened if he had stayed those two extra days in Las Vegas, curled up under satin sheets, asleep next to his handsome affair.

<<\-->>

They pulled into the ER parking lot a half hour later. The receptionist at the desk checked them in, her smile plastic and her eyes judgmental as Wendy explained their situation before she told them in a sugary sweet voice to have a seat and a nurse would be with them shortly.

Dipper, having forgotten his phone, spent the entire wait hunched forward and bouncing his knee. When a nurse finally came to collect him, Wendy was asked to wait in the lobby. Dipper shot her a pleading expression, but she just shrugged helplessly and he was led to an examination room where they performed standard procedures: taking his temperature, asking if he was over the age of twenty one, if he’d ever smoked, if he took drugs, if he’d had unprotected vaginal or anal sex recently. 

Dipper answered them all truthfully, as embarrassing as it was. He didn’t think he was sick, but weird things had been happening to him lately. He didn’t want to chance it, _especially_ after he remembered that he had had unprotected sex recently. 

In Vegas. 

With a _stranger_.

A condom hadn’t even registered in his mind when he’d been pushed down onto those silken sheets. Dipper had just known he wanted his unfairly handsome partner and he wanted him _immediately_. He hadn’t cared about the later, only the now, and now he was probably paying for it with an STI.

The nurse took different bodily matters from him, swabbed his throat, and drew his blood and told him they would have his results within a week or so and to make a check up appointment with the receptionist. He asked if he could have the test results before then, as he was only in Orick for three more days. 

The nurse had apologized, the sheer amount of tests normally took four to five days to process which was why patients were told to check back in a week, but offered to have his results sent to the Piedmont hospital. Dipper could simply make an appointment there.

With that, Dipper’s hospital visit was over and he was sent back out to the lobby. Wendy looked like she wanted to say something, but he must have looked as terrible as he felt because she simply walked back out to the parking lot and drove them back to the cabin.

The crows were all still in the trees, and if anything seemed to have multiplied while they were gone. They had seemed so mysterious and magical when Dipper had first driven up but now they only seemed evil and menacing, an omen of forbodance.

Dipper didn’t say a word as he got out of Wendy’s truck, merely walking to the cabin. He felt numb, the fog he’d arrived in the other day seemed to wrap around his mind as he made to return to the guest room before he was intercepted by Wendy asking about the hospital, demanding to know what was wrong with him.

An unusual bout of anger stole over him and he lashed out, got in her face, told her to keep her nosy ass out of his business which triggered the impending fight they had been dancing around all morning. Ultimately Dipper was told to leave and he stormed out of the cabin and into a symphony of cawing ravens who had seemed to be cheering for him. He got behind the wheel of the Stanmobile and started the drive back to Piedmont just as a heavy rain started to fall.

A little while into his drive the fog seemed to lift from his head and his gut clenched with the dreadful feeling that he had done something terrible. 

Maybe, Dipper thought, his friends were right. Maybe there was something wrong with him. 

As he ascended and descended the road on the sides of the coastal mountains the snow continued to change from rain to snow and back again, reflecting his emotional roller coaster of feeling ashamed and justified that he’d snapped at Wendy. He was right, it hadn’t been any of her business and the idea of explaining that he might have an STI that affected or had damaged his brain was terrifying, like talking about it would make it real. Even so, she was his friend and had probably only wanted to make sure he was okay.

Dipper groaned, his guilt starting to get the better of him and he reached for his phone to call Wendy. As he looked to dial her number, he began to slow, his foot lifting off the gas pedal ever so slightly.

On this particular stretch of road the temperature seemed to drop rapidly and the rain snow mix instantly froze on the road. Dipper had a slight flash of fear as he felt the rear wheels slip slightly on the forming black ice because he had slowed, the car no longer had the momentum to continue going up the hill.

The heavy sedan began to slide backwards down the icy slope.

Panicking, he tapped the breaks, knowing that jamming his foot on them would not help but the tapping only gave temporary relief from the slide and as gravity took hold of the sedan on the thin black ice he began to pick up speed.

Dipper cursed, his panic skyrocketing to utter terror. He looked up into the rear view mirror, eyes widening and jaw dropping before he began to frantically and rhythmically step on the breaks. Just behind him, appearing closer and closer, was a small red Volkswagen. 

It was no use.

The lumbering sedan had succumb to the icy incline and was careening right towards the little bug despite his efforts to slow it. He hit the bug square on the front, the crash throwing his head back against the headrest hard. Whiplash and vertigo battled for dominance as he thankfully came to a full stop in a small ditch off the side of the road.

He slumped in his seat and blinked rapidly, fighting off nausea and thanking every deity he could think of. Lucky for his grunkle the damage would be minimal and with a sense of gratefulness for the little red Volkswagen that stopped him from sliding down the ice slick hill, Dipper finally felt his world right itself.

He jolted when he heard what sounded like a bird of prey, the shriek animalistic. 

Looking through the windshield towards the sky he saw nothing but the mixture of snow and rain that was continuing to heavily fall. He heard the sound again and this time it was like a symphony of screams and cries that filled the chilled air. The same sounds that he had continuously heard on the ferry, at his family’s house, and the woods. 

Dipper swallowed and swore his mouth tasted of blood.

Turning, Dipper looked in the rear view mirror again and felt his heart drop as he saw the red bug, picking up speed as it slid down the slope. The driver jerked the wheel to the side to turn the wheels into the mountainside to stop the rapid sliding. The car made a kind of cartoon like hop, back and forth as it slid sideways on the road towards the guardrails separating the road from a steep drop off on the shoulder. 

Gasping, Dipper fought with his belt, fumbled the handle of the sedan and jumped out. He didn’t even think about the impossibility of him being able to do anything to help, he just started running as fast as he could, darting around his car and toward the Volkswagen that looked like it had become possessed. 

Dipper's heart was thumping hard in his chest as he locked eyes with the woman in the passenger seat who was wild eyed and screaming. He didn’t let go of the woman’s gaze, who was clearly screaming “help us” over and over again as he sprinted through the ditch, occasionally tripping over his own feet.

Dipper came out of the ditch and onto the slick road and as he stepped onto the iced asphalt at full speed run he lost his footing and slipped on the black ice, falling forward in slow motion. 

As he fell at an impossibly slow speed, Dipper looked up to follow the path of the red Volkswagen and stared in disbelief as he locked eyes with his tall, dark, and handsome lover who stared back at him with unfathomable amber eyes. He could barely make out the other figures in the back seat but could see his blonde paramour with stark clarity, his body relaxed and his sinuous lips pulled up in the most wicked smile. Their staring contest was broken when he found impact with the road, his already pounding head connecting with the asphalt and his ears ringing with the bitter and metallic sound as the red bug passionately kissed the guardrail. It was a high pitched cacophonied shriek of both metal bending and the panic filled voices of the passengers. 

When he lifted his head again he was looking at the underside of the vehicle as it began to teeter to its steep descent down the side of the mountain. He got up slowly, his vision swimming as he gripped his throbbing and likely concussed head, cautiously moving to the edge of the gaping guardrail. 

The bug looked like a crumpled ball of red wrapping paper where it had come to a harsh stop, caught on the stump of a giant redwood. There'd be no survivors.

Dipper choked back a scream, letting his hand fall from his head and lower to rest on his stomach. His eyes were streaming with tears but he let out a horrendous laugh which scared him, but he couldn’t stop, even when a loud explosion startled him and flames engulfed the car.

There on the back window of the destroyed car was a swinging, unmistakable yellow diamond shaped sign: 

Baby on Board.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know if I want to add on to this... I have a lot of other stories to be working on and I'm not really sure where I would take it. Like I have an idea but its... idk what it wants me to do but it wants me to do it.
> 
> Anyway, Happy Holidays! ~💙


End file.
